Right to the Point
by Calamity in Motion
Summary: Michael is on his way to have murderous fun, but low and behold, someone has beaten him to the punch. Two murderers meet and assess each other. Rated for violence.


**This is one of those shorts you just have to roll with to the end. It's kinda..odd? I suppose. anyway, more explanation at the bottom.**

**Hope ya like it and please leave feedback.**

I was screaming, though it sounded distant and strange. Id straddled him then, bringing the knife down over and over into his gut. I raised it far above my head with each blow, stabbing down as hard as I was able, again and again and _again_until the blood had coated my arms and pooled on the floor. It stuck my blond hair to my face in mated tendrils, shielding some of my vision, but still I stabbed him.

It wasn't until the wound had become a slick hole and my blade sparked off the concrete beneath him that I finally let my hands drop and tried to breathe. I was panting, heavy and exhausted and wired all at once. I stared down into his face, rubbing my bloody arm across my forehead to move my hair.

His expession was that of absolute fear, frozen from the moments he remained alive while I'd attacked him. I'd thought such things were only for stories, that death would relax the muscles and slacken his horror to serenity, but there it was. Proof that I'd given him what he deserved.

Pain and helpless terror.

Though, at the moment, I couldn't for the life of me remember _why _he deserved it, only that he did.

My knife scraped the floor as I slowly pushed myself up, slipping in the blood and landing back on the body. My knife slammed down into his throat, with a wet rip of flesh and I cursed, grabbing it with both hands. I yanked the blade sharply and it came out, just as my eyes raised and then I was frozen. Both hands gripped the handle of my blade, high above my head as if I were about to stab the man again, but I could only stare.

The person in front of me was tall and broad. The words 'huge fucking guy' danced around in my mind, but my thoughts were still racing after what I'd done to Tyler. The guy wore some sort of dark jumpsuit, black worker boots, and covering his face was a white rubber mask of William Shatner's face.

He titled his head at me, as if trying to figure out what he was seeing, and I did the same, slowly bringing down my knife. Both remained that way a long while, simply starring, taking in the scene. I noticed the butchers knife he gripped in his right hand and gave a short laugh. Very slowly, I pushed myself up, kicking Tyler's corpse out of my way, and brandished mine with a smile. Blood trailed along the edge of the gleaming blade, dripping from the tip and splattering into the still growing pool of Tyler at my feet.

The man watched this a long moment, then slowly, as if unsure, lifted his own weapon, still clean.

His dark eyes went from it to mine a few times before he finally looked back up at me starring silently. Something passed between us, a silent acknowledgement and understanding, and suddenly I was grinning again. I hurried to his side, leaving a bloody trail of footprints in my wake, and took his hand. I didn't cast nervous glances at his blade. Didn't cower at his enormous size, simply smiled and linked my arm with his.

Someone screamed, far off in the house and there was the sound of breaking glass. Images flashed behind my eyes, but I didn't quite understand them. Tyler, I knew him, his name, his face, and a girl. Not me, though it should have been. I blinked a few times to clear my head, but remembered stumbling into this house, seeing Tyler, his smile, and then the girl.

Another crash and my eyes lifted to the ceiling. I turned to the giant, who had been staring at me and the corpse, then motioned with my blade to the ceiling.

"Bad girl." I said seriously and he tilted his head toward the second floor, eyes trailing along the paneled wood to the stairs far across the room. A slam, like someone trying to escape and we started moving together toward the sounds. I let him climb the stairs first and, to my delight, he paused at the top, waiting for me to follow. I held up a finger to my lips when we near the bathroom door, though he hadn't uttered a sound since we'd met. It was closed now, and couldn't contain my soft giggle.

I tried the handle once, finding it locked, but could hear the soft desperate sounds of sobbing and shallow breaths and moved silently back to the giants side. My eyes went from him to the door and he stared at me again. I wasn't bothered by his gaze, in fact I met it levelly with no hesitation, then I noticed the tag on his jumpsuit, the tiny patch where his name was stitched onto the clothing.

"Michael." I read, barely above a whisper, then met his stare again. Such a wonderful name, I thought, like the angel, and suddenly I wanted to see his face.

The soft whimper inside the bathroom reminded me that there was work to do. I turned from my new friend and looked at the door. He followed my gaze. Then, stepping toward it, he lifted his arms and slammed them against the wood. Inside the girl screamed, over and over and the noise was making the world ring.

"Hurry." I cried, gripping my knife so tight my fingers went numb. And Michael did. It wasn't long before he'd broken through the door, and then he was dragging out the thing inside by matted black hair as she kicked a screamed and pleaded. He drug her out onto the rug, while she scrambled to get away, but there was no escaping the beast's grip.

His blade glinted in the hall light seconds before it descended, plunging into the girl's chest. Then again, and again, faster and faster while her shrieks became choked and gurgled spouts of sound and then finally, went silent. Michael gave one last stab with the blade, shredding his chest, then jerked out the blade. He stood slowly, and turned to me, eyes dark as ever.

His fist tightened on the dripping blade as he gazed steadily at me, and I knew he was considering killing me too, but I wasn't afraid. He was my friend, I decided. Everyone needs friends, even monsters. So with a sad little smile I approached him, gazing up into his eyes.

"Are we done here, Michael?" He didn't answer, didn't move, but his eyes seemed to harden a moment and I glanced down at the blade at his side. My hand went down to it and I lifted it up between us. He watched this, transfixed and I pressed it down against my exposed shoulder, then dragged then knife across to my collarbone. He watched the skin split, blood bubbling out to fill the deep cut and spill down my chest, then looked back at my eyes.

"Is that enough of my blood?" I asked, "Do you want more?" Again I moved to cut myself, but he stopped it, pulling his knife from my grip and stepping back to look at me. Very deliberately, he shook his head 'no' and I sighed.

"Someone else's blood then?" He gave a tiny nod. My smile grew bright and excited.

"Can I come with you?"

There was utter silence a long moment, and again I found myself gazing steadily into his intense dark gaze. Then, his hand lifted just up to the side and I smiled, taking the hand he offered me. We left the house then, moving to his slow deliberate pace. I didn't mind, though, I liked the way his moved. The confidence behind his powerful strides that said no matter how far or how fast you ran, he would find you. Always

I had figured out who he was after my brain had stopped racing, though I knew nothing concrete about myself beside flashes and faces. This didn't upset me, in either case and I continued to walk down the dark street, holding his hand, the skin rough and calloused and big enough to swallow my tiny digits.

Michael Meyers. Everyone with a TV set or a newspaper knew the name, even psychotics like me. He was recently escaped from an institution, I'd heard, cutting a bloody swath on his way out. The thought was entertaining, but it didn't hold my attention for long.

They said he had a face like an angel. They said because he'd never spent a day of his life since incarceration with even the smallest facial expression, he was really something to behold. I for one, couldn't wait to see for myself.

**Ok, so I was watching the newest Halloween the other day (which blows btw. Michael doesn't run, he doesn't grunt, and he _definitely_ would never scream "Die!" while stabbing someone, so I was very disappointed)**

**I've had a sick little crush on Mr. Meyers since I first saw him in the fifth grade. Then they remade him and I was so happy I ran to fanfiction to see how many other ppl loved him as much as me, and you no what I found?**

**_FLUFF_**

**And not only was Meyer's completely out of character the entire time, he was SWEET and MISUNDERSTOOD, and he fucking_ talked_, which yeah written stories kinda need dialogue, but still!!**

**Anyway, long story short(too late) I had this funny scene playing in my head where he came looking to kill some horny teenagers and be a general cock-block (albeit a smexy one) and he stumbled upon someone else who'd beaten him to it. what what he do? How would he take such a thing? It just made me smile. So it became this. Unfortunately, I still have thought of a name for this psycho..but oh well, Michey doesn't seem to care.**

**If ya liked it, send me some feedback.**

**If ya didn't, go read a fluff about Micheal leaving his evil ways to be with a bright-eyed Mary Sue.**

**-Calamity-**


End file.
